


Clean as Gold

by alicedragons



Series: The Baker's Boy [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (though it may be interpreted as sexual), Bathing, Fluff, Knight Edge, M/M, Medieval AU, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Prince Stretch, Touch Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicedragons/pseuds/alicedragons
Summary: Edge loves the feeling of Stretch's bones beneath his hands. He may not be ready to allow himself to truly indulge in Stretch's body the way he once did, but that does not mean he cannot worship it with all his love.





	Clean as Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Another drabble for this series. I don't really know what to say! I was just inspired. A friend was talking about the Spicyhoney boys showering together and the intimacy of touch, and this popped into my head. I honestly thought I'd left this story behind, but it's starting to turn into a bit of a fluff outlet.
> 
> (Also, I'm very sleep deprived as I post this, so please forgive any mistakes or inconsistencies).

Stretch’s bones glowed softly beneath the water. Edge watched it drip off him, adding a sheen to the smooth texture of his clavicle. He plunged the cloth back into the bath, squeezed it out, then wiped the soap away from Stretch’s shoulders. Stretch leaned back in the tub and breathed in, eyes shut. His smile was peaceful, at ease. “do you enjoy playing handmaiden to me, baker’s boy?” he teased, eyeing Edge over his shoulder.

“If it pleases you, my Prince,” Edge said, lifting Stretch’s arm from the water and cleaning between the delicate bones of his fingers. He was careful with him, never scrubbing too hard or handling him too roughly. And he was in no rush. No rush at all.

Stretch sat up in the tub, stirring the water. Edge glimpsed his naked ribs, glistening wet and cleanly polished. He demurely dropped his gaze. “would you kiss me, sir?” Stretch lifted his chin with a wet fingertip, and Edge closed his eyes.

“My Prince…”

“it would please me.”

Edge shook his head, reluctantly turning his face away. “I will not.” He dared not look at Stretch, for fear of glimpsing his rejection. But when he spoke, it was not with remorse or anger.

“did i give you leave to stop bathing me?” There was a smile in his voice—a hint of cheek. With a dutiful nod, Edge ran the cloth down his ribcage, slicking his bones in soft-scented soap. His bones glowed warmly, flushed light gold with magic. Edge felt their heat through the cloth, and stopped moving. His hand was right at the centre of Stretch’s sternum, where the light from his soul shimmered softly.

Though he still lay at peace, Stretch’s breathing was audible, deep and focused, as if sharing the moment with Edge. Yearning to feel the smoothness of his bones, Edge let the cloth slide into the water, resting his bare hands on Stretch’s ribs. Stretch barely stirred, but for a soft exhale and a light shudder. With tentative restraint, Edge traced a line down his sternum. His bone was like polished porcelain, smooth and flawless, and Edge shut his eyes to cherish it.

Stretch’s fingers found the back of his hand and Edge froze. “Forgive me—” He tried to withdraw but Stretch’s grip became firm.

“there is nothing to forgive, knight. please, go on.” Stretch’s hold loosened, and he guided Edge’s hand lower, to his spine. Edge barely deliberated a moment before holding on, letting his hand glide down the ridges of his spinal column. He pushed up his sleeve and leaned further over the tub, reaching lower, for Stretch’s lumbar spine.

He felt his way across Stretch’s bones as if he’d known them his whole life. His ribs, his spine, his hips, even delving between his femurs. Stretch held his wrist, guiding. He would squeeze when Edge found a tender region, and his breaths would shorten.

Edge was reluctant to stop, even when Stretch was pristine. But the water had become tepid, and it glittered gold with Stretch’s magic. Edge helped him from the tub, averting his eyes while he wrapped him in a soft towel. “you needn’t look away, baker’s boy,” Stretch chided.

“I do not mean to do you any dishonour.”

Stretch tutted and snatched away the towel, drawing it around himself. “my honour is perfectly intact, thank you.” Edge blushed sheepishly.

He helped Stretch dress for the feast. It was to be held in his honour—his first public appearance since his husband’s murder. It was believed that the eastern King’s murderers had been apprehended, though had Edge been in charge, he’d have kept Stretch’s location a secret until his safety was absolutely certain. But alas, Stretch had grown restless in his weeks here, and complained much of his confinement. He hadn’t seen the sky in so long but through his tiny window, he’d whine. The Queen had given in to his request, and while Edge trusted her judgement, he was wary.

He looked up at Stretch where he stood on the dais, studying himself in the mirror. “how do i look?” he asked, smoothing his hands down his garb. It was white, threaded with gold, and it sent Edge back to their very first meeting, on the unforgiving streets of the western kingdom. His beauty had only grown since, and for all the pain he’d endured, his smile was still kind.

Edge gazed at him, and a lump formed in his throat. Stretch turned, smiling, and Edge leaned against him. Sighing quietly, Stretch cradled his head to his chest. Edge could feel the warmth from his soul, and he listened to it beat. “You look a true prince,” he said, drawing away.

Turning, Stretch cupped his face. “and you look a knight, though i know you are truly a baker.”

“Baker’s boy,” Edge corrected quietly, just to hear him laugh.

The feast was grand. Stretch sat at the Queen’s side for the duration. Through the evening he was sent offerings from many of the lords and ladies present. Edge silently scoffed to himself from his post at the corner of the hall. Lacking in suitors indeed. Stretch was polite to those who approached him, though he offered them no delusions of accepting their advances. Quietly, Edge preened. That was _his_ prince, he wanted to tell them, but immediately banished the thought in shame.

“Did you enjoy the feast?” he asked Stretch later that night as he helped him disrobe. Stretch tilted his head, studying Edge in the mirror.

“yes, i suppose it was satisfactory. i had a rather lovely view of the gardens through the window.” His tone was sour.

“The Queen only means to keep you safe from harm,” Edge said quietly.

“as a bird is locked in a cage to keep it from flying away.” Stretch drew himself up. “no matter. you were in my line of sight the entire evening. so it was not wholly unbearable.” Edge’s face and soul grew warm.

“You were quite the attraction yourself.”

Stretch’s mouth twitched. “do you take issue with my suitors?” Edge said nothing as he unravelled the sash around Stretch’s torso, but kept his eyes lowered. “will you share my bed tonight, sir?”

Edge’s hands went still on his waist and he swallowed. “My Prince. I—I mean not to scorn you—”

“hush, sir, you owe me no justification.” Edge bowed his head, but stewed in his shame silently. Stretch stepped off the dais and took his hand. “as long as you remember that i am yours.” Edge breathed out and nodded, bringing Stretch’s hands to his chest.

“And I yours, my Prince.”


End file.
